


Sociopath Music Box

by Takene_ne



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And a pinch of angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, I mean it IS the Joker we're talking about here but!, Identity Porn, M/M, Shocking I know, also Bruce is Batman, also subtext, but in reverse!, lots of subtext, of sorts, romance in vignettes, so no canon Clown Bois plotlines happened, the 'jerome left the circus with jeremiah' AU, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Takene_ne/pseuds/Takene_ne
Summary: Bruce Wayne spills hot coffee on a stranger and lets himself fall in love. Only his life was never meant to be this easy.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 21
Kudos: 95





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimer applies :v Title after [Lucas King’s instrumental](https://youtu.be/gU7c-Gla7J4)  
> Now. I’m genuinely sorry for all the “JJ” business, but it DOES serve a purpose, promise!  
> Also. Please heed the **tags!** They are plot-relevant :3  
> edit: I _really_ hate sneaky typos :v

The first time Bruce meets him, he’s running late for a company meeting. They’re discussing new plans for clean energy engines, have been for the past few weeks, and Bruce will be damned if he doesn’t get some decent coffee before he has to go over the details _again_.

He doesn’t look around when he hurries out of Gotham’s best coffee joint in the area, too irritated to care who sees him in this less-than-perfect state, and too careless for once to keep up his usual cold façade.

Once is enough.

He literally runs into him by Wayne Tower’s door, his hot, delicious, _life-saving_ coffee spilling all over semi-decent suit and a curse on his tongue paired with _Watch where you’re going, will you!_

Then he looks up.

The smile is dazzling and the eyes crinkled with mirth and Bruce just _stops._

And stares.

And stares some more.

 _JJ_ _,_ the man introduces himself when the silence becomes awkward and laughs at Bruce’s flustered apologies.

He walks away before Bruce can try to compensate for his mistake, _disappears_ into the crowd, but his bright, cheerful laughter stays with Bruce for a long, long time. He doesn’t feel the lack of coffee until after the meeting.

The second time Bruce sees him, he’s running late again. Barbara Keen of all people is throwing a charity gala at the Sirens and Bruce just can’t _not_ be there. He is a busy man, though, and pleasing Gotham’s underworld is not high on his priority list.

It can’t be more than twenty minutes in when he finally steps into the lounge but the speeches are already in full blast and the guests pretend it’s not hard liquor in their champagne glasses.

Bruce doesn’t plan on staying here longer than absolutely necessary, his plans for the evening settled and familiar; much more connected to what happens on the streets after dark. After all, when all the big fish are partying, it’s the small fries you’ve gotta watch out for.

He’s just about to make a turn for the bar — might as well make his evening tolerable if he’s already here — when the shock of orange hair grabs his attention.

And Bruce stills.

In the corner, half-hidden from the crowd and nursing what looks like a glass of soda, is the man that’s been plaguing his thoughts ever since the incident a few weeks ago.

His suit is more flashy than the plain brown he was wearing last time, burgundy in color and shimmering under the throbbing lights, and Bruce can’t help but stare at him _again_.

JJ looks stunningly out of place in this mass of murderers and criminals parading as city’s finest. Like he doesn’t belong here, in this crowd. Like he’s fatally _bored_ by the whole ordeal, thoroughly unimpressed by the power play games happening all around him. Bruce doesn’t want to think _why_ it may be or why is he _here_ , but…

Even Bruce Wayne can’t track a man with just a name that could mean anything and a fleeting memory of a face in his head.

He doesn’t want to _try_ anymore.

When JJ greets him with cooing laughter and a sharp spark of interest in his eyes, Bruce gets a feeling that maybe this evening won’t be such a waste after all.

The third time Bruce sees him, JJ is wearing glasses and a suit in purple so deep that it might as well be black.

He’s seated in the café that Bruce likes, the same one who’s coffee he’s spilled on him that first time and the book in his hands looks like something that would undoubtedly give Bruce a headache.

His smile is tight when he spots Bruce across the room but he waves at him all the same. They exchange a handshake that feels weirdly _electric_ and Bruce would never admit it, but the appreciative look that JJ levels him with as Bruce joins him at the table makes his heart skip a bit.

It’s

It’s… _nice_.

They share a scone with raspberries and cream that JJ tears into little pieces before each bite and discover that their coffee orders are essentially the same. Bruce laughs at JJ’s cheesy jokes and his overly dramatic manner of being that he clearly tries to play off as _cool,_ and before he can notice, their lunchtime all but _flies_ to an end.

JJ calls him _darling_ and brushes his fingers atop Bruce’s own when he gets up to pay for them both. His smile is soft around the edges in a way it wasn’t before and Bruce… Bruce wants to see it again. Wants to feel like this again, easy and light and _easy._

He can’t remember the last time he’s felt like this with someone, the last time he could just be _himself_ and he knows, deep inside, that he will cling to this feeling for as long as it is given to him. _With tooth and claw if he has to._

He ignores how much like a date their meeting feels.

But he stops counting after that.

It goes smoothly from there. They meet in the alleyways and the coffee shops; in the mornings, in the evenings and at noon. Sometimes they eat together and sometimes they don’t. They talk a lot but mostly just laugh and Bruce feels like he has a real friend maybe for the first time in his life.

But it’s not just a friend that he wants.

JJ’s whole act is to be the opposite of subtle, even if he tries to deny it on the good days, and even Bruce, as oblivious as he may be, isn’t blind to the man’s desires. They want the same thing, after all.

But it’s not that easy.

Bruce isn’t just _Bruce_ ; he can’t give up his obligations, he can’t give up his _mission_ for something as trite as personal happiness. There are things out there, in this vast, rotten world, that are so much bigger than just himself. Things that Bruce has already dedicated his life to. That he will _never_ give up.

He doesn’t do a very good job at rationalizing the burn out of his heart. He knows himself enough to be sure he’s not going to be the one to take the first step, though.

He knows himself enough to realize his resolve will melt the second JJ makes a move.

He’s right. Of course.

They kiss for the first time in the dark, damp alley across the theater, the same one Bruce _never_ wanted to see _ever_ _again_ but follows JJ to willingly anyway. Their bodies dance together effortlessly as if they’ve done this a thousand times before and the fire that’s been burning Bruce’s heart for so long turns into a blaze.

There is no going back.

JJ is surprisingly sweet once Bruce gets to know him better. His jokes are still universally terrible and his tendency to turn absolutely everything into a show more embarrassing than anything else, and Bruce _likes him._ He likes spending time together whether they’re working silently in his father’s study or riding spinning cups at the local fair five times in a row. He likes listening to JJ geek out about maze construction even if he doesn’t understand a word of it at first and likes watching him practice magic tricks and getting engrossed in cartoons.

Bruce _likes him._

Maybe it shouldn’t come as such an unexpected discovery since they’ve been meeting semi-regularly for _months_ , but Bruce genuinely likes JJ as a person — likes his goofiness and nerdiness, his theatrics and sharp wit and brilliant mind and all.

It’s been a while.

Bruce is not used to… liking people.

He’s used to formal politeness, mutual use and filling societal roles that never leave much room for freedom. He’s used to cold lovers and set-up dates, carefully cultivated to maintain his image. _What he and JJ share are none of those things._

And it’s not like becoming lovers somehow _changed_ anything.

That instant connection Bruce has felt when he first run into JJ with hot coffee in his hands and stars in his eyes never dissipated. Grew stronger over time. Getting intimate only amplified the inevitable.

It goes like this: Bruce Wayne is in love.

Realizing such a fundamental, _earth-shattering_ truth about himself should probably tip the scales of his fragile balance, but it doesn’t change much. Bruce easily slides into the role of a lover, _of a love,_ and carries on.

Only

Only things do change.

JJ doesn’t exactly _move into_ the manor but they spend together almost every other night. There’s his toothbrush and extra pair of glasses in Bruce’s personal bathroom, his plush, crimson robe draped over the armchair in the living room and a full closet worth of spare clothes. There are blueprints and schematics all over Bruce’s study — tucked neatly away where they’re not a bother — a collection of throwing knives that aren’t _Bruce’s_ in the kitchen drawer and JJ’s favorites on the menu.

JJ calls Alfred _Jeeves_ behind his back and _Alfie_ to his face, and hugs him hello on days when he’s particularly bouncy. He steals hot cookies directly from the oven and stays up late working, sometimes even after Bruce had already retired for the night.

And it’s… _nice._ Domestic.

Bruce didn't really have much of domestic in his life and he greatly appreciates this semblance of family that JJ brought back into his house. The sense of someone waiting for him after long, tiresome hours to kiss him hello and massage his shoulders. Someone to fuck senseless until they’re both screaming themselves hoarse and someone to cuddle with afterwards. It’s _nice_. Even if only for _some_ days.

Sharing his life with another person is wonderful in ways Bruce has long forgotten. Or maybe never had.

It’s also way more difficult than he could’ve ever anticipated.

Bruce is very aware that JJ is a _very_ clever person and assuming he didn't notice Bruce’s weird disappearances when they share a bed most nights would be at best naïve and downright foolish at worst. Bruce is not a fool.

He doesn’t want to be.

But there are limits to how far he’s willing to let JJ into his life and betraying Batman is not a line he’s ready to cross. Maybe he’ll never be.

So Bruce knows that JJ likely suspects something. _He has to_. Bruce knows that at least broaching the subject with a carefully constructed lie would spare him the worry of unprompted investigation blossoming right under his nose. Because Bruce knows that for all his carelessness and casual snobbery, JJ actually _is_ a nosy son of a bitch that will not hesitate to go to great lengths for things that he desires. Especially so if they concern Bruce.

It’s just…

Starting the topic would mean acknowledging his secret, and even if only in a roundabout way, Bruce doesn’t want to do that. Batman is a part of his life he chose to brave alone and that didn't change just because he’s met—

In the end, he doesn’t say anything, hoping against hope that whatever dirt he’s swept under the rug will just… stay there. Until he’s ready to dig it out himself.

In the end, trouble doesn’t wait for his endorsement.

First time is the most devastating.

Gotham villains have an unnerving habit of going all out on grand spectacles and acts of terror, and the newest, instantaneous addition to the most prominent criminal gallery isn’t any different.

 _Joker_ , the media dubs him after he kidnaps the mayor and several other important city officials. After he blows up their heads live on stage when they fail to make him laugh, while a whole bunch of costumed maniacs wreaks bloody havoc in the GCPD quarters.

 _Clown_ , the people say because his hair is acid green, his skin streaky white and a scarry Glasgow smile he sports underneath boxy sunglasses painted in blood red. _Trouble,_ thinks Bruce.

Maybe it’s not the worst crime Gotham has ever endured, but it’s a cheeky one. Bold in ways that scream _Look at me_ and **_I_** _make the rules now_ and _There is **nothing** any of you can do about it._

Maybe there isn’t.

Joker flees unscathed and untouched, the city left helpless and bubbling with chaos in his wake.

First time is the most devastating. The sheer impact of the crime leaves the city shaken for weeks and never to be the same again. But it’s just the beginning.

It all blends together afterwards.

Joker becomes constant, palpable threat not long after Bruce finds his evenings sweetly preoccupied. He doesn’t retire from his _nightly activities_ , of course, he knows he never would, but the truth is, he starts his patrols later at night and comes home earlier before the dawn and it feels filthy. He feels guilty, so endlessly _guilty_.

There are criminals out there slowly turning his beloved city into a madhouse, criminals he swore to hunt down and put behind bars. The Joker lays ruin and devastation wherever he shows up, spreading messages of freedom through insanity and rejection of the rules, his cult constantly growing and Bruce—

Bruce is not on the streets as much as he should, not nearly as much as he feels comfortable with. He keeps telling himself it’s just a phase, that he needs a little time to settle into new routines and rewire his life. That change isn’t _bad_ as long as he still has control over his time and his actions.

Fighting crime will always be his number one priority, but maybe.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be his _only_ one.

Because the truth is — Bruce Wayne is happy. For the first time in his life, truly, selfishly happy in the arms of a man that loves him back. And he doesn’t want to let that go.

But it’s the people of Gotham who pay the price.

The night Joker blows up main power plant and brings long, bloody hours of purging darkness down on Gotham City, Batman works tirelessly to contain the carnage. In the moment, it feels a lot like all hell broke loose upon them and all the demons have crawled out of their dirty holes to fester on doom and human flesh.

It’s the most blood and dead bodies Batman has ever seen. The most despair and mindless frenzy he’s ever thought could happen all at once and the most destruction Gotham experienced at the hands of its own.

It’s the night that changed everything.

The one that will go down in history as the first when evil won so thoroughly, on such an unprecedented scale. The one when it sunk its merciless, rotten teeth deep into the wavering hearts of Gothamites and _pulled_.

Triumphant.

That night Batman returns home covered in gore that isn’t his own and feeling more numb than ever before.

Defeated.

It’s nearing normal people morning hours when he finally drags himself out of the cave, craving nothing more but to bury himself under the covers on the nearest soft surface and forget about the world for a few hours. Forget the blood. Forget _the_ _madness_.

When he enters the kitchen to rummage through Alfred’s secrets stash of sleeping pills, he finds JJ perched on a windowsill in rumpled yesterday’s clothes and no glasses, nursing almost empty bottle of Jack that Bruce knows he hates. He looks just like Bruce feels — bone-tired and on the verge of something that isn’t entirely _human_.

He doesn’t say anything for a long while even though he must’ve heard Bruce come in and Bruce doesn’t dare move any closer. He desperately wants to _touch_ , to make sure he’s _okay_ , and now that he’s back in reality — his _other_ reality — Bruce can’t shake the dread of not thinking for even a second about JJ’s safety. Through all that horror. _He can’t—_

He barely registers JJ downing his drink in one big gulp before he jumps on his feet. In two strides he’s hugging Bruce like a lifeline and Bruce can’t be sure which one of them needs it more.

“I thought they took you away.”

It’s not more than a whisper. A broken plea pressed hot into the skin of his shoulder and it burns _it burns_ it sets Bruce _on fire_. The grief and the anguish, thick like a cocoon made of summer heat and Alfred’s treacle tart melt around them with every passing second of contact and Bruce burns _burns_ with the need to stay like this forever.

They don’t.

_They can’t._

JJ pulls away to caress his cheek and his eyes are full of stars Bruce has never seen before. He already dreads the day they will turn into black holes.

When they kiss, slow and soft and gentle, it tastes a lot like ashes. A lot like heartbreak. A lot like a promise, too.

If something unspoken shifts in this moment, Bruce could never tell.

It goes like this: the Joker strikes without fail only when Bruce and JJ are together.

It takes Bruce almost half a year to figure it out.

GCPD only catch Joker because of a stroke of luck: a faulty bomb that goes off too early, a partially collapsed building and a well-timed _anonymous_ tip, warning them when to expect the next attack.

Emergency call catches Bruce right in the middle of dinner. He and JJ were supposed to take the weekend off, leave Gotham for a bit, charge their batteries. JJ insisted. Only a particularly stubborn investor with the added misfortune of being _important_ refused to reschedule his Saturday meeting. They opt for holing themselves up in the manor with wine and unlimited movie supply instead, no business allowed save for Bruce’s brief duty call.

Emergency call catches Bruce right in the middle of dinner and Bruce can feel his blood run cold.

He excuses himself to answer it with a sweet kiss to JJ’s lips and a promise to take just a second.

When he returns to the manor many hours later, nothing is the same.

It’s not every day the GCPD can celebrate the capture of one of Gotham’s most dangerous, notorious villains. Putting Joker behind bars after months and months of terror feels almost like they won the war and not just a battle.

Bruce doesn’t feel like celebrating. It’s usually the Batman that gets invited on such occasions, not the resident billionaire (ex)playboy, regardless of how close of friends he might be with the Commissioner.

Something isn’t right.

They didn't give Bruce any details regarding the capture over the phone, or why exactly did they want him here, but. He should’ve been prepared.

He isn’t.

Everything becomes clear when Jim leads him to the most hidden in the row of cage cells. Once they’re close enough to make out the insides, Bruce stops dead in his tracks. His breath catches in his throat like a ball of cold slime and he’s _sure_ his clenched fists are drawing blood.

Behind the bars, cuffed and held on gunpoint, is the Joker.

His signature glasses are off and nowhere to be seen, and for someone with so much blood on his hands, the man underneath looks strangely vulnerable. Maybe it’s the rubble dust from the fallout he’s still covered with or the makeup, smeared pathetically in ways Bruce — _Batman_ — has never seen before: white paint half gone and scarry prosthetics peeling right off around the edges. Maybe it’s the look in his eyes, wide and exposed, _empty_. Very pointedly lacking the zeal the man is usually so full of.

_Maybe—_

Joker tries to smile when he sees Bruce approaching, finally moving closer and closer and _closer_ , but it comes off broken and almost sad. Almost regretful.

“Impossible.”

It takes Bruce a full minute to jump-start his wits again but when he does, it’s not—

_him_

—that he speaks to. It’s Gordon.

“Jim, I just ate dinner with this man and he’s still in my home right now. He can’t be the Joker.”

_But can’t he?_

There were always… _glimpses_. Little details that never made sense and always made Bruce wonder, yet none of them jarring enough to really register as anything but quirks. Little details that could’ve easily been just odd habits, different reflections that _everyone_ has.

The way JJ wears glasses only sometimes but Bruce has never seen a case of contact lenses in the bathroom. The way he drinks black coffee with two sugars when he’s working but milked and unsweetened if he’s up before Bruce in the morning. The way he hugs Alfred with crushing force, fully prepared to take the snarky remarks that will follow, only to nod stiffly hello the next time. The way he hates whiskey but will share a glass with Bruce nonetheless. The way he makes love.

_What if?_

Joker watches Bruce with hollow eyes, unblinking and transfixed and Bruce’s heart shatters.

“Call Alfred.”

They haul JJ into the cell, sedatives that Alfred sneaked into his tea due to wear off any minute and it’s—

It’s startling.

The resemblance.

Even with one of them asleep and the other… _like that_ , there is no denying it. The Joker _IS_ not. The Joker _ARE_.

“There’s two of you.”

“Yes,” the Jokers — _plural_ — say in unison when Bruce finally feels brave enough to face them, and he fleetingly thinks he can tell them apart now. Thinks he’s not _crazy_ , he wasn’t _losing his mind_. There’s _two of them_ , there always have been, playing him in their wicked game of cat(s) and mouse.

The butterflies in his stomach turn into vicious, blood-sucking bats and Bruce thinks he will throw up.

He doesn’t.

The twin looks of defeat on their faces turn his blood into ice and Bruce can’t look at them.

He just _can’t._

He would’ve stand gloating and mockery, all the inevitable jokes at his expense. Smug ridicule he’s so used to after fighting the Clown time and time again. But not this. _Not this._ If he weren’t going crazy before, he sure is now.

“Brucie, baby,” JJ — the Jokerized one — tries softly, reaching to him through the bars and it abruptly hits Bruce hard in the chest that he doesn’t even know their names. They were _both_ JJ to him all this time and he just realizes now that it can’t be right. That they’re _JJ_ , _J **& **J_ because they are both the **_J_** oker, the infamous Mr. **_J_** — only doubled.

And Bruce _doesn’t even know their names._

 _Jerome,_ they say, _and Jeremiah_ , and suddenly there are even more _Js_ to make sense of it all and Bruce feels like his head is spinning. Feels like maybe it wasn’t _all_ a lie after all.

For some reason it only makes him angrier.

He leaves before he can do something he’s going to regret.

They don’t tell the press.

Of course they don’t.

_It’s Gotham,_ Harvey pats him on the shoulder once and moves on.

_The GCPD has lost enough cred over this, Bruce,_ Jim says when they watch the Joker(s) being shipped off to Arkham together.

_We can’t admit we were fooled by a pair of identical loonies,_ he says later over whiskey in Bruce’s living room.

_I’m so sorry for your loss,_ he murmurs quietly before he leaves in the morning.

Bruce doesn’t want his pity.

He doesn’t want to be getting shit-faced drunk with the Police Commissioner over the men he loves — _plural_ — that turned out to be criminally insane terrorists that painted the city in blood.

He doesn’t want to feel betrayed and lied to. He doesn’t want to feel so small and so, _so_ _stupid_. So played.

He wants to

He wants to hate them.

He doesn’t.

* * *

It’s almost a year later when the news breaks that the Joker escaped from Arkham.

 _He had outside help,_ Valerie Vale writes in the Gotham Gazette. _The culprits remain unknown._


	2. II

“Jay” Bruce Wayne breathes into soft, orange hair.

_“Jay”_ he pleads when two pairs of freckly hands pull him into hungry embrace.

He feels whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Style experiment cuz I didn't have one of those in a while. I do realize it’s a bit. Ambiguous.  
> If you made it this far, comments are love <3


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